Ascension of the Cursed One

Darkness.

The last thing I remembered was the divine figure, cold and detached, passing judgment on me.

My body felt like it had been pulled through the depths of hell, every muscle weighed down by exhaustion.

But I was alive.

Somehow.

I opened my eyes to the dim, rocky walls of a cavern. The air was damp and cold, with the faint sound of dripping water echoing off the stone.

This isn't the afterlife...

I tried to sit up, wincing as a sharp pain tore through my abdomen.

What...?

My hand instinctively flew to the source of the pain, and there it was—a stab wound, fresh and raw.

My fingers brushed over the dried blood and jagged edges of the gash.

So, this is my second chance—cursed, as promised.

The divine figure's voice still echoed in my thoughts: "Reincarnation, burdened with a curse."

This was my new reality.

I looked down at my body, now clad in the threadbare rags of a life spent in poverty—clothes too worn and patched to offer much protection against the cold, with the wound on my abdomen barely concealed beneath the tattered fabric.

As I sat there, trying to make sense of everything, the echo of the divine figure's words surfaced in my mind: "Check your status."

Status? I wondered, feeling a twinge of curiosity despite the pain.

My mind raced for an explanation.

Was it a command?

I hesitated, then whispered, "Status."

Before my eyes, a translucent panel appeared, glowing faintly against the dim cavern. Lines of text scrolled in front of me, detailing things that felt both foreign and familiar. My name, my level, my health—all laid out like a report card from some unseen force.

The glowing panel hung in the air, casting a faint light across the cavern walls.

I scanned the details with growing confusion.

Name: Ethan Vale

Level: 1

XP Bar: 0%

Primary Job: None

Health Points: 30 / 100

Mana Points: 50 / 50

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 7

Intelligence: 9

Wisdom: 6

Luck: 4

Skills: Skill Mimicry (0/3)

Titles: Cursed Rebirth

I stared at the words with my mind reeling.

Skill Mimicry.

The name jumped out at me, but what did it mean?

0/3?

Three empty slots?

A shiver ran down my spine. I had no idea what this skill could do or why it was listed with this strange limitation.

Was this part of the curse the divine figure mentioned?

I checked my sole title, with faint curiosity and dread.

[Acquired Title: Cursed Rebirth]

[Effect 1: -10% to initial health upon reincarnation.]

[Effect 2: +5% XP gain for the first 10 levels.]

Confusion gripped me as I tried to make sense of the panel's information, but the sound of footsteps suddenly echoed through the cavern, pulling me back to the present.

My body tensed.

Someone was coming.

The echo of footsteps grew louder, reverberating off the stone walls.

My heartbeat quickened as I tried to steady myself, but the weakness from my still-healing body weighed me down. I struggled to my feet with the lingering pain from the stab wound biting into my abdomen.

A shadow loomed near the cavern entrance, and then a figure emerged. His eyes widened as he spotted me with shock clear on his face.

"You... how are you still alive?" the man spat, taking a step closer.

He wore rough cloaked garb, but what caught my attention was the symbol embroidered on his chest—a strange emblem I didn't recognize.

I had no time to think about it.

His surprise quickly turned to anger. "I'll finish what we started."

It dawned on me—he was one of them.

The ones responsible for the body I now inhabited.

The tension in the cavern snapped like a drawn bowstring. The man lunged at me, and I barely had time to react.

My legs felt heavy, unresponsive, and the dull ache in my abdomen throbbed with each movement.

I stumbled back, avoiding his initial strike, but I knew I couldn't keep this up for long.

I need to survive.

He pressed the attack, his movements fluid and quick, far more controlled than my sluggish responses.

Panic surged through me with memories of my death flashing in my mind. The weight of my previous failure hung over me.

I couldn't die like this—not again.

The man smirked as he swung a blade toward me. The reflection of the cavern's dim light glinted off the metal.

"You can't survive this time," he sneered. His footwork was quick and precise as he closed in.

The man's overwhelming speed and precise footwork quickly closed the gap between us.

Desperation clawed at my chest as my mind raced for a way out, but my weakened body refused to cooperate.

The man stepped in close, his feet moving in a blur with practiced precision. He was going in for the kill—his movements confident, with deadly grace.

He darted to my side, too fast for me to counter.

Quick Footwork!

The skill name hit me like lightning as I watched him move.

My mind grasped for something—anything to fight back—and suddenly, instinct took over.

Instinctively, I reached for the skill in my status panel.

[Skill Activated: Skill Mimicry]

[Cost: -10 Mana Points]

[Skill Mimicry has been used successfully]

[Skill Acquired: Quick Footwork]

A surge of energy shot through me, unfamiliar yet powerful.

[Skill Activated: Quick Footwork]

[Cost: -5 Mana Points]

The air around me shifted, and my body moved—mirroring his speed, his grace.

Though there was a cost.

[Status Update: Mana Points 35 / 50]

I could feel it.

Just as his blade came down, I dodged.

The movement felt unnatural, but it worked.

I had copied his skill.